Bender's a Creep
by Wiggles123
Summary: "Neat!" (Frender/Fender/Fendship)


Fry considered himself a fairly tolerant man. He typically could put up with most of Bender's little phases, like that time Bender refused to take off his cowboy hat, or that other year he swore he was the reincarnation of Frank Sinatra. He was patient with each step Bender took in his life, and promised to remain that way at any cost, but in all honesty, if Fry ever had to hear that robot sing "Fly Me to the Moon" one more time in his life he would probably jump right off a bridge. And good thing that hat had already been carefully placed in a dumpster behind a Fishy Joe's.

With the pledge to remain lenient with Bender throughout his little _"Fry, this is who I am!"_ periods on his mind, Philip J. Fry gulped and forced a smile when Bender found his old camera on the closet floor, under several piles of Slurm cans and toxic socks, (undeniably while trying to find Fry's diary or recover something illegal he'd stored in there.)

"That's great, Bender!" Fry fibbed through the bared teeth of a fake smile, clenching his fists behind his back. "I'm _so_ glad you finally found that camera I wasn't hiding from you." Bad memories were racing through his head; those secret nudes of Fry that Bender put on the internet, the hours he had to wait while Bender tried to get the _perrrrrfect shot_ of a certain whatever down the road, the times they were both removed from malls and coffee shops because Bender couldn't quit photographing people's ugly butts. From a distance, it was pretty damn funny, but the humor is lost once you've been ear-dragged out of a Kaylee's Krafts by Head of Security: Rodney Clocks.

But, to Fry, the worst part of all was the torture he endured while Bender was trying to get a stupid picture of him. Fry had been tripped, embarrassed, dressed up, and hurt both physically and mentally for the sake of Bender getting a snapshot. And what did Bender do with said snapshots? Fry couldn't say. Most of Bender's work had previously been done during the night, when he was asleep.

"I can't believe it was there the whole time! I toldya I'd find it sooner or later." Bender smiled, swinging the chunky camera around by the strap and poking his free finger scoldingly at Fry's face. "Never doubt a determined robot, Meatbag."

 _"Ooooh sure,_ I learned _my_ lesson." Fry went along, knowing very well that Bender completely forgot about that stupid camera and had rediscovered it purely by chance, and oh, how he wanted to tell that blowhard off for it, but he held his tongue. Bender snorted condescendingly.

"You know, you can learn a thing'r two about a thing'r two from me." He lectured, hand-on-hip, and turned to swagger to the living-room without another word. Then, the second Bender was gone, Fry let his phony smile melt into a grimace.

This was going to be a goddamn nightmare.

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Fry opened his eyes slowly and was alarmed to find that he could not breathe. Something _(or someone)_ hard and heavy was sitting right on top of him and it was no pleasant sensation.

"HhmmBender!" Fry groaned, trying ineffectively to take a gasp of precious air, but his diaphragm was being completely crushed. _"Hhhiiieee ca'reathe-"_

"Neat." Bender peeped over the lense then snapped a picture of a very purple-looking Fry. He tried to push the robot off with weak arms, and Bender quickly obliged, rolling off of his breathless body, and chuckling darkly. Fry sighed, exasperated, and collapsed back onto the bed, burying his flushed face in his pillow. This was hardly the strangest thing Bender had done to him over the years.

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The redhead dumped his cereal and milk into a poorly-washed ceramic bowl, like usual. He soon heard the chime of the coffee-maker and shuffled over in his little slippers, dingy tee and his pajama pants to pour his morning dose of caffeine into a powder-blue mug that read "World's Okayest Roommate," then left it on the counter to cool while he shoved a spoonful of Holey-O's into his mouth. All as routine and comfortable as any other Saturday. That is, until Bender jumped straight out of the cabinet under the sink with a ghoulish mask covering his silver face.

"MUAHAHAAA!" Shouted the robot, wiggling his stout fingers threateningly, arms raised high.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Fry screamed, hurling the cereal bowl at the ceiling and folding into himself in fear. The dish crashed into a lightbulb, shattering it, before falling perfectly on top of Fry's head like a hat. Sparks popped. Cereal and glass rained down around them as Fry let out the last of his shrieks and began to pant. His legs were far too shaky to help him stand back up, so he just sat, wide-eyed and hyperventilating in a pool of glass, cereal, and milk with a dirty bowl for a hat. The light above them gave a few gallant flickers before the filament burned out and left the kitchen dim.

"Neat." Bender ripped the mask away, holding the camera to his amber optic, and taking a lovely photo (that would probably end up on their X-mas card.) Fry blinked at the blinding flash and gaped in awe while Bender skipped merrily away, as if he didn't just traumatize his best friend.

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Sitting on the couch was a harmless leisure to most, but Fry was on edge while a cigar-smoking Bender lounged along with him, an iron foot-cuff resting on his squishy lap. What was that maniac planning to do? Groin-kick him? Suffocate him? The possibilities were endless, and each of them quite probable when it came to Bender. Fry wouldn't put it past him to sock him in the mouth for a good photo. Luckily for the redhead, the worst that became of him was a simple flick on the cheek.

"Oooww." Fry complained and rubbed his palm on the dull sting, rolling his eyes. "Cut it out, Bender."

"Neat." Bender whispered, never taking his optics off the television while he snuck a snapshot.

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Hot water splashed onto Fry's bare back. He hummed innocently and wiped the soap bubbles above his brow so that they wouldn't drip down and burn his eyes. There was nothing better than a nice shower after a long morning of constant paranoia, right? Well, at least he was safe here, in a small bathroom, stark naked and not suspecting anything.

Fry ran some fingers through his spiky bangs and rinsed the white suds out. Taking a deep breath, he felt warm steam saturate his lungs. _Relaxing._ He watched as the murky-white water rolled down to his feet, beads of it collecting on the fuzz of his legs.

Ah, all that was left was to do was turn off the warm shower and-

"NEAT!" Called an unwelcome voice as a gust of icy air stung a very wet and very nude Fry all over. The shower curtain had been ripped from it's rod, and Fry was really scrambling to pull whatever corner of it that was still in his reach over his more private body parts. Unsurprisingly, the click of a camera in use could be heard over the roar of the shower, mere inches from where Fry was cowering.

 _This_ one was probably going on the X-mas card too.

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"Hey! Fry! Get over here! There's some guy here by the name of _DeForest Kelley_ here to see ya!" Bender hollered from the front door. Fry snapped his head up from his coloring book and jolted from his seat on the kitchen counter.

"DeForest Kelley? But I thought he didn't-"

Bender quickly cut him off, darting around the nook to slam a dodgeball straight into Fry's face as he passed. Obviously he caved onto the floor, moaning, face in his hands, and writhed for a moment. This was eighth grade gym class all over again.

"Neat." Bender crowed and took his picture.

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Fry'd had it. It had hardly been two days and he'd already been burned, pantsed, manhandled, emotionally scarred and worse, then, of course, had the effects photographed, _(if it wasn't awful enough,)_ yet Bender didn't seem to show the slightest twinge of repentance. It was horrifying. By Sunday night, the redhead had barricaded himself in their pig-squalor excuse for a room with a bucket-helmet, knee pads and a hard, plastic broom he planned on swinging if he heard the robot came too close to his padlocked door. Bender was _not_ getting another humiliating picture of him, _not this time._

There was a stern but unthreatening knock at the door. "Fryyyyyy, let me in."

"...No!"

"Ugh, I don't wanna have to break this door down again. It's a nice door, Fry." Bender complained, and Fry could hear the angry frown in his tone. "You better hope this doesn't end like that Aqua Palace incident last year."

"That dolphin had it out for me, Bender! He was not just _"being friendly-"_ I could feel it in his slippery-smooth soul!" Fry shouted back from his huddle under a blanket fort.

"Psh, that's stupid. Now would you _please_ let me in to get my oil? My joints are killin' me." His muffled voice called through the door rather patiently, (at least by Bender's standards.)

"… You promise you don't have that camera?" Fry contemplated.

"Surrrrrre, surrrre..."

"Well... alright. I grant you permission to enter!" Fry bellowed dramatically like a gatekeeper in a fantasy movie, taking off his bucket helmet.

"You have to unlock it first, doofus."

Once the padlock was undone, Bender rudely pushed his way through the door with a "Move it," almost crushing Fry to the wall in the process, and slammed it behind him. And before Fry could protest, he was grabbed around the middle and yanked over to stand right in front of the robot, who had a dreamy but dangerous look in his eye. _(What in the world-?)_ Unexpectedly, Bender reached a gray hand up to delicately trace Fry's dainty cheekbones and graze a thick thumb over his pinkish lips.

"Uh, Bender? What the hell are you do-?"

Bender bluntly clamped the redhead's face in one hand, too fast for Fry to understand what on Earth was going on. His lips were swiftly forced down onto Bender's icy mouthplate, his chin still trapped between steel fingers. As Fry felt Bender's other hand kneading through his hair, a strange sensation bubbled at his mouth. It was coldish, burning, fuzzy and tasted like necklaces. It was almost _soothing._ Fry couldn't help but to... maybe... close his eyes...

The kiss began and finished within an instant. Bender pushed Fry off and snapped a "neat" photo at an incredible speed. Fry just stood there stolidly, dumbly, like a confused ape at the zoo, all drooly-mouth gaping incredulously, flushed in the face with messy hair. It was quite the sight to Bender, who was grinning like an imp and doing his best to repress an evil chuckle.

Now _this_ was going in the file. He'd wanted to do that for a long time, and figured he might as well call it a night, but he soon remembered he still had one more picture he needed to finish off the weekend. He patted a dumbfounded Fry amiably on the head as he left. "G'night, Meatbag."

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The room was darkish, but certainly not pitch black. There was just enough light for the ancient camera to take a decent photo, if Bender did say so himself. Fry had knocked out at about 7:20, due to the exhaustion from staying up in a vain attempt to protect himself from the camera the night before. What a dumbass. Bender still got a good eight shots of him.

The robot creeped in around 7:45, and stood like a tourist in the doorway, pondering which angle was best to impose for this particular picture.

"Hmmmmm..." He stepped deeper into Fry's territory, _(He sure seemed to like that kiss, didn't he? Bender you handsome devil, you could have him smitten! There's a chance you could-)_ and shook his head slightly, taking a robot's equivalent of a deep breath. He decided it was best to focus on his photography, which already rendered him a smiling fool.

He stood beside his beloved pet for but a moment, watching him snore and drool, and cuddle up against his grungy pillow. It was absolutely disgusting. It was... _(sorta cute...)_

"Daww." Bender half-smiled once he assured that nobody was around to hear, and held the camera to his optic one last time. "Neat."

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Once Bender got the contrast just right, he sauntered over to the television. His hand reached way down behind it and fished around until his fingers recognized a familiar Manila folder, and nabbed it up. The tab read "Best of Fry" in scribbly blue pen, and the corners were faded and curled as if it had been hiding behind that television for years. Perfect. Bender flipped to the very end of the stack, the stack of eighty some-odd, specially-chosen pictures of Fry. Fry eating, Fry drunk, Fry sick, Fry dressed as Madonna, Fry on a roller coaster, Fry naked, you name it. It was all there.

Bender pulled a marker from his chest-compartment and popped the cap off with his robo-teeth, writing _"An idiot snoozing."_ on the back of the photograph in his hand, and holding the folder in place under his arm. Then, the robot carefully stuck it behind _"A smooched meatbag (Best one yet!)"_ and closed his file slowly. His optics gazed down on it very fondly. These were his most fantastic pictures, his best work if you asked him. And, if you were standing close enough, perhaps, at this moment you would see a tear or two well up in those yellowish optics.

 _"So neat."_ He whispered softly, kissed the file oh-so-quickly, and slid it back to it's place behind the t.v...

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 _THE END_


End file.
